Tony's box of memories
by ytteb
Summary: In the season 10 episode 'Shell shocked' Tony says he got a box of old stuff from Senior. The episode explored a bit of what was in the box ... what else might there have been? Tony will find out .. with the help (and possible hindrance!) of other members of the team.
1. Chapter 1

_Probably not much plot in this but I got to wondering what else might have been in the box! _

Special Agent Tony DiNozzo came out of a meeting in MTAC to find a message on his cell. Seeing it was from his father he braced himself to listen to what Senior had to say,

"Junior," came a cheerful voice, "Just to let you know that I've sent a package to your apartment. I got the bill for my storage unit a couple of days ago. I don't know where they get their prices from! Anyway, I cleared some of the boxes out and there was a box of yours there. From the old house in the Hamptons, I think. Thought you might want it. Gotta go. See you soon. Ciao."

Tony put the phone down and considered: for once he couldn't see a downside to a message from Senior. DiNozzo Senior had finally given up the family home just before Tony went to Ohio State. Characteristically he hadn't given his son any notice so that he could go and collect anything. Instead, Tony had got back from spending the summer with Great Uncle Clive in England to find that the house had been shut up.

By that time, Tony was well used to his father's sudden decisions and didn't really expect to be consulted. In reality it had been a long time since he had lived much at the old house; most of his vacations were spent with friends or at camp so his childhood room didn't contain many possessions from his teenage years. A teenaged boy was unlikely, in public at least, to regret losing Mr Fuggles the bunny. Nearly three decades on, however, Tony was intrigued to discover what his father had thought worth rescuing for him.

"Boss," he called across to Special Agent Gibbs, "I'm going to head off now. Senior left a message. He's sent me some sort of package: it should be at the apartment now."

Gibbs' instinctive reaction was to deny permission. It was after all only halfway through the afternoon but just as his mouth opened to say no, he saw the eagerness in Tony's eyes and changed his mind. It was very rare for Tony to look excited at a message from Senior and Gibbs, thinking that perhaps his second B no longer stood for bastard, relented and waved his hand in dismissal.

Tony practically bounced to the elevator and Gibbs watched him go with a fond smile on his face. Then he remembered he had an image to maintain and scowled at Ziva and McGee who were sitting at their desks with shocked expressions.

When Tony reached his apartment block he found that he'd been unduly optimistic; he should have known that anything from his father came with strings attached – strings probably tangled into an unbreakable knot. At first when he entered the elevator area he thought someone new had moved in and left one of their crates behind but he soon realised he was wrong. Joe the super had obviously been waiting for him and burst out of his office,

"Tony! Why didn't you tell me you were having that crate delivered? It's too big for the elevator. It's been stuck here all day. Mrs Gordon nearly fell over it; Mr Dunlop threatened to set fire to it, the kids from number six have been using it as a fort! Why didn't you tell me, man?"

Tony went into automatic 'cleaning up after Dad mode' and started apologising. He edged up to the box which was about six foot tall and six foot broad. He tapped on one side and the noise which came back indicated that it was full. He tried to picture his old room but he couldn't remember it having enough stuff to fill this box. A sudden awful thought struck him, surely it didn't contain all the furniture? He was just about over his canopy bed nightmares and had no wish to relive them.

"You've got to move it, Tony," said an irritable Joe.

"How?" asked a bewildered Tony.

Joe produced a crowbar from behind his back with a flourish.

"Here!" he said, and marched back to his office and slammed the door behind him.

Tony froze for a few moments but, at that moment, Gloria Gordon came home from walking her pug Khartoum and gave him a dirty look.

"Mrs Gordon!" said Tony gamely, reaching out to pat Khartoum on the head. It was not unreasonable, Tony thought afterwards, that Gloria should have taken fright: he had forgotten that he was holding the crowbar. Gloria squawked indignantly, scooped the pug up and went off muttering threats. Unexpectedly, this turned out to be a good thing. Joe had obviously been watching from his hidey hole and came out with a smile on his face: he had a running battle with Gloria and Khartoum and was always pleased to see them at a loss. He took the crowbar out of Tony's lax hands and started hacking away at the box.

Joe had soon torn enough of one side of the crate away that Tony could see that it was filled with a number of smaller boxes, packed in with miraculous skill. Tony peered at one and saw that it was labelled 'Junior's toy closet'. It wasn't Senior's handwriting and Tony realised that he must have brought in a professional removals company who had just packed everything up and then sent it to the storage unit.

Joe's good humour had been restored, "Where d'you want all this?"

Tony tried to call on his Federal Agent skills but still found his mind reeling.

"Why not put some of it in your store room downstairs? The rest'll have to go upstairs."

Tony pulled himself together and made a random selection of the boxes to go to his apartment. The boxes labelled clothes and books were consigned to the store and the remaining four or five went upstairs.

A sweaty hour later, Tony stood gazing at the boxes littering his apartment,

"Thanks, Joe, I owe you," he said, barely suppressing an urge to hug him.

"You sure do," said Joe firmly, "but it was almost worth it to see the look on that pug's face." His pleasure didn't stop him holding out his hand for a more tangible reward and Tony sighed inwardly at the thought that his father had cost him money _again._

Left alone, Tony decided he needed a reward after all the hard work of manhandling the boxes so ordered a pizza. While he waited for it to arrive, he considered which box to open first. He was about to go for the box of toys when he saw one labelled 'Junior's desk'. He had never been a studious child so figured there wouldn't be much in that one so that by the time he had gone through it, the pizza would have arrived.

He opened the box and found that everything inside it was carefully wrapped up. The novelty of unpacking wore off when he discovered that each crayon and pencil had been individually parcelled. He found a couple of exercise books and chuckled over his childish attempts at drawing but was beginning to flag. Just as he decided to give up he spotted a small square packet which didn't look like stationery. He picked it up and saw that it was a parcel with his name on which had come through the mail. Someone had written on it – 'Tony to pick up when he comes back from England'.

Tony remembered that he'd never gone back to the house after coming back from England and realised that this parcel had been waiting for him for nearly thirty years. He picked it up and sniffed it, hoping it didn't contain food! The stamp was English and the address seemed to have been written in Great Uncle Clive's handwriting. Tony opened it carefully; a couple of sheets of paper fell out on to the floor but Tony let them go as he suddenly had an idea what Clive had sent him.

A few minutes later the door bell sounded to announce the arrival of the pizza. Tony rushed to the door, pushed a bundle of notes at the surprised delivery boy and grabbed the pizza. Then he dashed back inside, grabbed his parcel and the sheets of paper and ran downstairs. He banged on Joe's door and thrust the pizza at him when he answered and then he was gone.

NCISNCIS

Ducky was looking forward to a quiet evening at home with music and a new biography of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle when he heard banging on his door. Tutting not unhappily, he went to answer it. He was surprised to find Tony standing on his door step; he took a moment or two to wonder if Anthony had ever visited him on his own and then extended his usual courteous welcome,

"Anthony, how nice to see you. I do trust there is nothing amiss?"

Tony jiggled a bit in excitement but tried to remember his manners,

"I'm not disturbing you, Ducky, am I?"

"Not at all, not at all. I rather like to be disturbed. Keeps the heart pumping, you know. Come in, come in. Now what can I do for you? Can I get you something to drink? Tea, coffee or something stronger? I have a rather fine whisky which I think you might appreciate."

"Tea will be fine, Ducky," came the rather unexpected answer.

"Come into the kitchen then," said Ducky, "you can watch me make it. And what do you have in your hands there, Anthony?" he continued, pointing to the parcel which Tony had clutched to his chest.

"Senior sent me a package," said Tony.

"And that's it?"

"Part of it," answered Tony, "a very small part."

Ducky finished making the tea, fished out some cookies and sat down at the kitchen table. He looked expectantly at Tony.

"Read this," said Tony, handing him one of the pieces of paper which had fallen out of the package. "It was in among the other stuff and I'd never seen it before."

"My dear Tony," read Ducky, "I very much enjoyed your visit these last months. I hope it will be the first of many such visits. You remind me very much of your dear mother. Not just in looks but in your attitude to life. I wanted to give you something as a keepsake of your visit. I think you will like it as you enjoyed looking at them in the library. No need to thank me.

With my love and good wishes

Uncle Clive."

"Oh my," said Ducky, "and how long ago was this written, Anthony?"

"Years and years," said Tony sadly, "and I never knew."

"And what did your uncle send you?"

Tony handed over a small velvet covered box, Ducky opened it and gasped.

"This is beautiful, who are they?"

Tony took the box back, it contained two miniatures, one of a young woman and another of a young boy.

"The woman is the Honourable Elizabeth Paddington and the boy is her eldest son Edward, he's seven in the picture. They were painted in the late eighteenth century. I think she was Uncle Clive's great great something grandmother. I remember he showed them to me in the library one day. He said he thought they looked like my mom and me."

"May I?" asked Ducky, reaching out a hand to take the pictures back. He looked at them carefully, "he was right. There's something in the eyes. Remarkable, quite remarkable, how family likenesses extend through the years."

They sat in silence looking once more at the paintings.

"This is a wonderful gift, Anthony," said Ducky at last.

"I know," said Tony, "I can't believe he gave them to me. They were one of his most prized possessions. He and Mom were very close, you know."

"Indeed," said Ducky, "and it is very generous. I don't know much about miniatures but I know enough to recognise the signatures. I believe these are by George Romney, one of the finest artists in England. These are worth many thousands of dollars, you know."

Tony looked even more stunned, "and I never knew, I never got to say thank you to him. He must have thought I was so ungrateful."

"From the letter he wrote, I don't think he expected thanks," said Ducky reassuringly.

"Still," said Tony, "I would have liked to say thank you," and he ran his finger gently over Elizabeth's picture.

"And what happened to Elizabeth?"

"She lived to be eighty six and had seven other children," said Tony proudly.

"Wonderful," said Ducky, "a real matriarch. And the boy, Edward?"

"He died the next year. Consumption, I think."

"How sad," said Ducky, "how sad." He gazed at the portraits noticing now how they were placed in the box so that they were facing each other. "Looking at each other but never to touch again," he said mournfully. He raised his cup of tea in a toast, "Elizabeth and Edward," he said.

"Elizabeth and Edward," repeated Tony as he clinked his cup against Ducky's. "Thanks, Ducky."

"What for?" asked Ducky.

"I knew you'd appreciate them," said Tony.

"And what is the other piece of paper?"

"Great uncle Clive was a practical man. This is a fully notarised document gifting the portraits to me, he didn't want there to be any doubt."

"A wise and good man," said Ducky, "like his great nephew."

"Possibly," said Tony, "one day."

"And what will you do with them, Anthony?"

"I can't sell them," said Tony.

"No, of course not, but they might be rather too valuable to keep in your apartment, I fear."

"I hate the idea of shutting them up in a bank vault," objected Tony.

"Indeed, indeed," said Ducky, "they are so fine, they should be on view."

"Perhaps I could lend them to a gallery?" said Tony doubtfully.

"That's a splendid idea," said Ducky enthusiastically, "and I might know the perfect person to ask."

"Of course you do, Ducky," said Tony, "of course you do! Between you and Gibbs I've got all the bases covered!"

"It will be a great pleasure to find a suitable place for your treasures, Anthony. And to think I was just going to spend the evening reading and now I have this exciting new project. Perhaps I should do some research into Romney and the other English painters of the time. And of course, there is a fine tradition of Scottish artists which it would be remiss of me not to explore. Oh, are you going?" Ducky broke off from his monologue when he saw that Tony was edging out.

"Yes, must go. I think I'll go home and enjoy Elizabeth and Edward for tonight at least."

"An excellent idea. And who knows what other treasures your boxes might contain?" said Ducky cheerfully.

"You're right, Ducky," said Tony, "after all I haven't found Mr Fuggles yet."

* * *

_AN: if you've ever had your house packed up by 'professional movers' you will know that they wrap everything up however small and insignificant. Who knows what else Tony will find as he unpacks his boxes?_


	2. Chapter 2

Tony put the pictures of Elizabeth and Edward on the piano when he got home, determined to enjoy them for a night or two at least. He made himself a sandwich, feeling a pang of regret for the pizza he had given away earlier. As he sat eating he realised he hadn't finished going through the 'desk' box: he didn't expect to find anything as exciting as Uncle Clive's gift but decided to finish the job. He ploughed through a multitude of pencils, crayons and other childish stationery but was then rewarded by finding a photo album and his old Instamatic camera.

His first instinct was to look at the pictures in the album but there wasn't anything there of immediate interest and then he was stopped by a sudden realisation: it looked as if there was still a film in it. He remembered he had last used the camera just before his mom died; he hadn't stopped taking photos but he'd been given a bigger and better camera shortly afterwards and the Instamatic had been discarded. He held it now in awe, wondering if it had any secrets to share. It had been wonderful to be given the portrait which had something of the look of his mother but what would it be like if the old camera gave up a real picture of her? He laid it reverently on the piano resolving to ask Abby if she could develop the film: he knew he could take it to a camera shop but he didn't want to trust it to less caring hands than Abby's.

He went to bed and had an odd dream of a woman wearing a long floaty dress calling for her lost son.

NCISNCIS

Abby was delighted to see Tony the next morning. Well, even more delighted than usual; Tony could hardly remember a time, once Abby had adjusted to him, that she had not welcomed him with enthusiasm.

"Tony!" she squealed, "show me, show me!"

"Show you what, Abs?"

"Ducky told me about the cool picture of your great great great something and the cute little boy."

Tony felt like a father having to tell a daughter that Father Christmas didn't exist,

"I left it at home, Abs," he confessed.

"Ohhh," said Abby disappointedly, "but you _will_ show it to me, won't you?"

"Course I will."

"'Cos I had a really good idea."

"Yeah?" said Tony.

"Ducky said you might be going to lend the paintings to some gallery."

Tony snuck a look at his watch. It was just after 7am: just how early in the morning did Ducky and Abby start their information exchanges? Or perhaps they had some sort of telepathic interchange going on. He pictured them practising their connections. He was brought back to the present by Abby hitting his arm,

"Tony! You're not listening!"

"Sorry, Abs. Go on."

"I thought I could take a really high definition photo of your portraits and you could keep those at home. Then you'd have the best of both worlds. It would be almost like having the real thing."

As ever, Tony was touched by her kindness, "that's great, Abs, thank you."

Abby jumped up and down and clapped her hands in excitement. She then spotted that Tony was holding something, "so what _have_ you brought me, Mister?"

"I found my old camera in the same box as the paintings. It's got a film in it. I wondered if you could develop it for me."

"Oh, Tony," said Abby taking the camera, "of course I will. But," she continued with a worried frown, "It's not very likely, you know. Film that old might not have survived, or it might not be very good." Then she leaned forward and hugged him, "not that I'm saying _you're_ old."

"I know, Abs. Just do your best, will you?"

Abby saluted smartly, "if a picture can be extracted from your camera then I shall extract it. I will not be defeated, I will leave no turn unstoned … I mean, no stone will be left turned, no, that's not right either …" Tony reached past her to pick up her CafPow, he handed it to her and said soothingly,

"I know, Abs, I know."

She took a refreshing slurp, "so, do you have any idea of what pictures might be in the camera?"

"I've been trying to remember, but like you said, it's a long time ago."

Abby leaned forward to hug him again; only the skill of long practice preventing her from spilling her drink down his suit.

"But," continued Tony, "there might be some pictures of my Mom …"

He got a third hug and then a dismissal, "Go on, go. This is important, I need to do my best work, I need to concentrate. I hope nobody gets murdered so I have to do some forensics …"

"Abs …"

"I know. I never _really_ want anyone to get murdered … unless it's in a really _different _way. You know, some untraceable toxin, or killed with an ice bullet – I'm _so_ looking forward to one of those. Or mauled by squirrels …"

"Or squashed by a hippo?" said Tony entering into the spirit of things.

"Bert wouldn't do anything like that," said Abby reaching out to pat the stuffed animal on the snout.

Tony decided it was too early in the morning to play tennis talkie with Abby so left her to her dreams and her work,

"Thanks, Abs. See you later."

NCISNCIS

Later that day, back in his apartment, Tony was about to bite into another pizza when the door bell sounded. He went to the door a little warily; he had passed Gloria and Khartoum earlier in the evening and they had given him matching scowls. He needn't have worried, it was McGee.

"McGoo!" he said, "we didn't get a case, did we?"

"No, we're good," said McGee a little shiftily.

"Have you eaten?" said Tony hopefully.

"Yeah, I'm good," said McGee trying to look round the apartment unobtrusively.

Tony sighed, some of Tim's street skills still lacked finesse. "What do you want, Tim?"

Tim shuffled uncomfortably, "Abby and Ducky said you had a package from your Dad?"

"They spoke the truth," agreed Tony, "in fact, unusually for them, they underplayed things."

"Uh?"

"I had _several_ packages from Senior."

"Oh, that's good. Isn't it?"

"So far, yes. But this is Senior we're talking about so I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"Ducky mentioned something about the contents of your bedroom as a kid?"

"Ye-ee-ss," said Tony, beginning to wonder if Tim had some odd sort of fetish. Or, to be more accurate, _another_ fetish. He stared at Tim for a few moments but he seemed unable to will the other man into admitting why he had come. Longing for his pizza drove Tony to break the impasse,

"Come on, Tim, spit it out."

"I was thinking …"

"Always a good thing for a federal agent," said Tony in false encouragement.

"That a kid's bedroom …"

"Yes?"

"Might have … might have – some toys in it," blurted out McGee.

Tony nodded in understanding. He went into the kitchen and came back with a sharp knife which he handed to McGee, "feel free, McGee. Tony's toy closet box is there, unpack away," and he sat down and carried on eating his pizza.

Fortunately for McGee, the toy crate was less packaged up than the desk box had been; perhaps it was because some of the toys were in boxes or perhaps the packers had begun to flag. Tim was soon surrounded by battered toy cars, some headless cowboys and a three-legged horse: it didn't appear that Tony had been a very careful child. As Tim tutted over a police car with only two wheels, Tony was moved to protest through a mouthful of pizza,

"Hey, toys are meant to be played with. And I seem to remember that was one spectacular chase."

"What's this?" asked Tim pulling out a stuffed toy.

"Paddington Bear," said Tony.

"You named a bear after your family?" said Tim.

"No. It's a railway station in London."

"Your family has a _railway_ station named after it?" asked Tim incredulously.

"No," said Tony scornfully. Then he stopped to think about it, "Well, I don't think so anyway. Nobody's ever said so. No, Paddington Bear is an English toy. He's a bear from Peru, darkest Peru to be exact, who arrives in London and gets found at Paddington Railway Station."

"Oh," said Tim, in a tone which implied that this was gibberish.

"Here, give him to me," said Tony, "you don't appreciate him."

Tim handed him over. Tony held him for a moment, adjusting the duffle coat and hat and wondering where the missing Wellington boot had gone. McGee looked at him curiously and Tony flushed pink,

"Aunt Caroline gave him to me, just after my Mom died and I went to stay with her and her family in England. I sort of understood how he felt, a little bear all alone." He coughed in embarrassment and put the toy on the coffee table. Tim looked at him in surprise, it was impossible to predict when Tony would decide to share that sort of memory. At that moment, however, McGee was distracted by the sight of another box,

"Laserlightrobotconnekters!" he gasped.

"What?" said Tony.

"Do you know how rare these are," said Tim, holding the box carefully.

"Uh, no …"

"They were only made for about a year," explained Tim, "they were revolutionary for their time, beginning the transition from mechanical to electrical, from physical to psychical, from …" he rambled on.

Tony tuned out for a few seconds but Tim didn't notice as he continued in his happy reverie, "this is _so cool_," he finished. His return to words which Tony understood brought Tony back to the present and he shrugged modestly. Tim gasped as he spotted a label on the box,

"It was a prize? A _science_ prize?"

"Oh, yeah," said Tony, remembering, "it was from Science Camp."

"You went to _Science _Camp?" asked Tim in disbelief.

"Not deliberately," defended Tony, not wanting this slur on his reputation. "Senior made a mistake. Or at least, I think it was a mistake," he continued darkly, "he left booking to the last minute. We were meant to be going to Italy on vacation but some business trip came up and he had to find somewhere to park me for the summer. He _said_ Science Camp was the only place with a vacancy. Which figures, I guess."

"So you've been to Science Camp," said McGee in a tone which suggested that his world had just rocked on its foundations.

"Just once," said Tony firmly, "after that I made sure I went to knife throwing Camp."

"And clogging Camp," said Tim slyly. "I can't believe you've been to Science Camp," he continued in a bewildered manner.

"It wasn't all bad," said Tony, "there was this other kid there, same age as me. He'd wanted to go to Sports Camp but his Mom was punishing him for something so he ended up there too. We sort of bonded – sport stars against the geeks."

"And you won a science prize?" probed Tim, still clutching the box.

"It was a cool project," said Tony, "we had to build this bridge using matches and homemade glue. The smell was _awesome._ Ahh, Willie and I had fun."

"Willie?"

"Willibrord Peabody the Second."

"You're joking," said McGee.

"You'd hope so, wouldn't you?" said Tony reflectively, "but no, that was his name. Hard to believe that a father would want a name like that to continue, isn't it?"

"It wasn't the name …" said McGee.

"Wasn't it?" asked Tony, "although I did envy him a bit."

"Why?" said McGee.

"Couldn't work out why he got to be 'the Second' and I had to be 'Junior'. I tried to get my Dad to call me Anthony DiNozzo the Second but he wouldn't play ball." Tony brooded over life's unfairness for a little while but then replayed Tim's reaction in his mind, "so if it wasn't the name, what was it you thought I was joking about?"

"Willibrord Peabody was a brilliant doctoral student at M.I.T. when I was there. One of the finest chemists of his generation; his work on molecular biology is pioneering …"

"And I was at Science Camp with one of your heroes," said Tony.

"And you won a _science_ prize with him," said McGee in a voice that was close to a wail.

"Doesn't seem fair, does it?" said Tony with an evil grin.

Tim rallied well, "at least I can picture you embracing your inner geek!"

"I don't have an inner geek," Tony protested.

Tim voiced a thought he had long held, "Actually, Tony, the way you talk about movies is pretty geeky."

Tony paled at the insinuation that he was a geek of any sort but then thought of a way he could regain the upper hand. He went and picked up the photo album he had found last night. He turned a few pages before finding the picture he wanted to show McGee,

"There. That's me and Willie with our winning entry."

Tim looked at where Tony's finger was pointed. Two boys each holding a box of Laserlightrobotconnekters stood behind a rickety three foot long matchstick bridge. A group of disgruntled-looking children looked on disapprovingly as Tony and Willie beamed proudly.

"Perhaps I should tell Gibbs I did some woodwork," said Tony thoughtfully.

"Yeah, if you really want him to have you building a boat out of matches," said McGee.

"Good point, McGee, good point, my man. Now get back to work. Who knows what else is lurking in that box?"

McGee went back to his excavation but nothing else rocked his world that night. In the end, however both were happy. Tony had a pile of toys which McGee had meticulously organized _and_ he had been reunited with Paddington – who he most definitely did _not_ take to bed that night.

And McGee? McGee went home with a gift of Laserlightrobotconnekters and stayed up all night playing: to the despair of his on-line friends who waited in vain for him to come and wreak havoc with them.

As Tony fell asleep that night, he wondered what else was waiting in the unpacked boxes.


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: it seems to be canon that Abby managed to develop the film in Tony's long lost camera – so I'm going with that even if it seems a bit unlikely!_

Tony visited Abby's lab as soon as he got to work the next day; she had texted him just as he was eating his breakfast to say that she had news about his film and he wanted to hear what she had to say.

"Hey, Abs," he greeted her.

"Oh, Tony," came her downbeat response.

"Don't worry, Abby, it was a long shot, I knew that," said Tony philosophically.

"Do you doubt my expertise?" demanded Abby in mock outrage.

"No," said Tony, beginning to feel more hopeful, "did you get something after all?"

"Of course," she said, "it's just … well, it's just …"

"Go on, Abby, I can take it."

She gave him a quick hug, "Tony, you're a really great crime scene photographer …"

"Why, thank you, little lady," he drawled.

"But as a little boy you took really bad photos!"

She handed him a bundle of pictures, "There's about twenty altogether, there was nothing on the last four frames."

Tony looked through the photos. He had to admit that Abby was right, there were blurred pictures, a presumably accidental one of the sky, another of his thumb over the lens, people with heads missing or half out of the frame. He sighed, he wasn't sure what he had expected but, given his sense of disappointment, it was more than this. Abby bounced with excitement,

"But there was this one as well!" and she handed him another snap. Tony gasped, it was a picture of his mom with her arm around him and they were both smiling at the camera.

"Isn't it sweet?" cooed Abby.

Tony found it difficult to speak and Abby rushed on, "I mean, I know it's disappointing about the other photos. But this one is cool, isn't it?" She sounded disappointed that her surprise didn't seem to be having the expected effect. Tony cleared his throat,

"Yeah, Abs, it's cool. Um, I remember, we were standing outside the movie theatre and I asked this random guy to take the picture. He did a good job." Abby waved her pigtails happily. "This is the last movie we went to see together. Uh, this is probably the last photo before she … well, before she … you know … Thanks, Abs."

"Oh, Tony," said Abby as she enfolded him in a hug once more. Tony took a moment to reflect that even by Abby standards he had had a lot of hugs since Senior's surprise package. "I can make you lots more copies if you want. I could blow one up so you could have it in a frame."

"I'd like that. Thanks, Abs." He turned to go and then remembered he'd brought something for her. "McTreasurehunter came round last night and we, well Tim, unpacked a box of my toys. We found this, I thought Bert might like him as company," and he handed Paddington Bear to Abby. Abby clutched the toy to her chest in delight.

"But, Tony, don't you want to keep him? He's from your childhood, you should keep him."

"Nah, you have him, Abs. Big bad federal agents can't have Paddington Bears littering their apartments."

"But federal forensic scientists can?" queried Abby.

In partial answer, Tony swept an encompassing arm towards Abby's work bench adorned with an eclectic assortment of models, toys and pictures.

"Point taken," said Abby, "but are you sure?"

"It's a way of saying thank you, Abby," said Tony.

"OK," said Abby, "he will look _great_ next to Bert."

"He's only got one boot," said Tony.

"No problem," said Abby, fingers already tapping on her keyboard as she began a search for Wellington boots for Paddington models. "And you know that you can visit any time."

"Thanks, Abs," said Tony again. As he left he could hear Abby saying, "Now, Bert. We've got another member of the family. Remember what we discussed before … Abby still loves you but she loves our new friend too. So I want you to welcome him. He's from Peru so he may speak a bit …"

Tony didn't hear any more as the elevator arrived to take him up to the squad room.

NCISNCIS

At odd times during the day, Tony looked at the photos and especially the one of his Mom. Ziva caught him in the break room and he found himself sharing the pictures with her. It was one of those moments when the two of them seemed to reach an understanding; she was sympathetic and, when she realised it was a difficult subject for Tony, was gentle and did not tease him.

Abby visited the team in the squad room later that day and asked Tony what else was in the boxes.

"Don't know, Abs, there's a couple of boxes labelled clothes that I haven't gotten to yet."

"I'll help," offered Abby immediately, "the sisters might know someone who needs children's clothes."

"And I will help too," said Ziva unexpectedly.

Tony hesitated for a moment but then remembered how sympathetic she had been over the pictures and said,

"Sure, that would be great. Hey, Tim, do you want to come and do some more unpacking?"

Tim looked a little flustered, "Er, no, I don't think so. Things to do, you know."

"Ah," said Tony with a smug, all knowing look, "what is it? Your on-line buddies miss you last night? Or are you still trying to work out Lightlaserrobotconnekters?"

Tim jumped slightly, how did Tony _know_ these things? Before he could stop himself, he heard himself saying, "It's _Laserlight_robotconnekters, Tony," and then realising that he'd given himself away said, "No-oo-h, I just happen to have other things to do," and he returned to his computer with a serious look, hoping that Tony couldn't see that the screen currently displayed a website devoted to Laserlightrobotconnekters.

NCISNCIS

Tony brought the boxes labelled 'clothes' up to his apartment when he got home. There was one box which, when he saw it had an extra description, he put in his bedroom; somehow he didn't want to open that one with an audience.

He ordered some Chinese food for them all to eat and settle down with a happy feeling. Unfortunately the happy feeling didn't last long after Ziva and Abby had arrived. In fairness, he couldn't blame them, the clothes _were_ funny. Sweater vests in lurid colours and patterns, 'a leisure suit' in lime green polyester, flared pants in plaid which apparently were teamed with floral shirts. The catalogue of fashion faux pas seemed endless. As each new item emerged Ziva and Abby dissolved into yet more laughter. A short-sleeved denim jumpsuit with a matching turtle neck sweater had Ziva saying,

"Tony, I think you should go to your tailor and get an adult version of this. It would be a good look on you, yes?"

Tony's good-natured grin had been becoming more and more fixed as the night went on but he was still determined not to let it fade. He shook his head and took a mouthful of cold Chinese to keep himself from saying anything.

"Seriously," said Abby, "what were people thinking to dress their kids like this?

"Did your _mother_ choose these clothes for you?" asked Ziva.

Tony stiffened as he realised why the jokes about the clothes had hurt so much: it felt like criticism of his mom who had indeed picked out his clothes for him.

"There are an awful lot of clothes here, Tony," said Abby.

"He must have been a cup child, Abby," said Ziva.

Abby looked puzzled for a moment, "it's _trophy_ child, Ziva, not cup child."

"Yes, of course, thank you, Abby. Trophy child. It's true, Tony. Looking at the labels on these clothes, your parents spent a lot of money on you."

The pain went a little deeper. Ziva was only thinking aloud but the implication seemed clear to Tony: he had just been a way of his parents showing off their wealth and there was nothing else to it.

"Thank you for your input, Zee-vah," he said coolly, "I'm glad this has all been so amusing for you both."

Ziva realised that somehow she had said something wrong but she couldn't quite see what,

"Tony, I am sure that these clothes were considered very, er … suitable at the time. I apologise if I have upset you in any way."

Tony tried to pull himself together. Ziva didn't have the look in her eye that she got when she had just got the better of him and she did look honestly bewildered at his apparent change of mood.

"You haven't upset me, Ziva. It's looking at all those plaids and that plush sweater vest: it's all a bit disorientating." He shivered dramatically and then changed the subject, "well, Abs, I guess the sisters won't want these for their children's work. I'll put them out for trash."

"Oh no," said Abby earnestly, "don't do that. I have a friend who specialises in retro clothes …"

"Of course you do, Abby," said Tony trying not to feel further depressed at the thought that some of his clothes were old enough to be considered retro.

"He'll _love_ to have these. He can sell them in his shop: he'll get a fortune for them. The sisters can use the money instead … if that's all right?"

Tony cheered up a bit, "So people will still want to buy these clothes. Even if they are weird?"

"Absolutely," Abby assured him, "70s and 80s clothes are all the rage. I don't get it myself but Tedward says he can't get enough of them."

"Tedward?" queried Ziva.

"Long story," said Abby, "Dad wanted to call him Edward and his Mom wanted to call him Ted. They couldn't agree so settled for both."

"That wasn't a long story," said Tony.

"That's because I just gave you the edited highlights," said Abby, "it took five years for them to agree and …"

"All right," said Tony, "I believe you. So you say 'Tedward' will take all this stuff?"

Abby nodded, happy to be making Tony, Tedward, the sisters and retro clothes-lovers of Washington happy. Tony shrugged his shoulders, he felt a little guilty at the thought of a traumatised child having to wear his lime green leisure suit but decided that wasn't really his responsibility.

They packed the clothes back up and carried them down to Abby's car so she could take them to Tedward's Retro Emporium at the weekend. It was as well she had brought the hearse as the clothes took up a lot of room.

"Thank you so much, Ton-ee," said Abby as she hugged him goodbye, "the sisters will be really grateful."

"Give the girls my best," said Tony returning the hug.

He turned to Ziva who still looked a little troubled. She raised her hand to cup his face,

"I do not know what I said to upset you, Tony, but I am sorry. I am sure your parents loved you very much."

"Even if they did dress me in a pink plush sweater vest," said Tony lightly, taking her hand and giving it a quick kiss, "Night, Ziva, see you in the morning."

He went back to his apartment and got himself a beer out of the cooler. As he drank it he decided that as he was already in an uncertain mood he might as well open the other box.

An hour later, as he sat surrounded by an assortment of odd clothes and three empty beer bottles, he heard the doorbell. He got to his feet a little unsteadily,

"McGoo," he said as he opened the door, "I haven't got any more toys."

"Didn't come for toys," said Gibbs.

"Boss?" said Tony in surprise, "what are you doing here?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow and Tony hurried on, "not that you're not welcome, of course. It's just that you don't … well, you don't often come here."

Gibbs raised the other eyebrow and Tony said, "Come in. Coffee? Something stronger? What am I saying? There's nothing stronger than the coffee you drink."

"Coffee'll be fine," said Gibbs firmly, "looks as if you should be sticking to that too, DiNozzo. School night, you know."

Tony pouted a little but went to make Gibbs a coffee. He didn't give in completely though; he compromised by bringing Gibbs a coffee and not bringing himself another beer.

"So, Boss," he said, "_why_ are you here?"

"Wood," said Gibbs briefly.

"_Wood?_" repeated Tony, "you want wood from me?"

"McGee said your parcels came in a wood crate," said Gibbs, "might be good lumber there. Shame to let it go to waste."

"I could chop it into match sticks and make it into a bridge," said Tony unexpectedly.

Gibbs frowned, he wondered if Tony had drunk more than three and a half beers.

"I won a science prize for making a bridge," Tony explained, "We made our own glue too."

"That explains a lot," said Gibbs drily.

"Boss?"

"Tim would say you have an obsession with super glue, now we know where it started. Someone gave you a _prize_ for making glue," explained Gibbs.

"O-o-oh," said Tony, "good observation, Boss. Good skills there."

"Thank you," said Gibbs with apparent sincerity.

"Why are you really here, Gibbs?" asked Tony.

"Abby," said Gibbs.

"I should have known," said Tony, "what did she say?"

"Not much. Said the three of you went through the clothes and you seemed a bit off."

"It was stupid," said Tony, "it was nothing. I'll tell her in the morning. You don't have to stay, Boss."

Gibbs just sat there, sipping his coffee.

"It was just that listening to Abby and Ziva laughing at the clothes. It made me feel … it made me feel as if they were criticising my mom, and …"

"And?"

"And then Ziva said I must have been a trophy child. I don't think she got the idiom right, but …"

"But sometimes you think your parents didn't love you enough?"

"Hey, you've met Senior. It's not surprising I have doubts."

"So, what was different about tonight?"

"I've always thought my mom was different, that she really loved me. But then, Ziva and Abby were saying how many clothes there were, how much they must have cost and it made me wonder."

"If your mom was the same?"

"Then I opened another box. Look!" Tony gestured to the pile of clothes on the floor, "they were in the 'costume' box." Tony bent down and picked some up, "one of my many sailor suits. Here's the outfit I made out of Senior's ski suit – real happy memories there. And this, this is my outfit for those civil war re-enactments," he lifted it to his nose, "ah, I can still smell the whiff of poo." He took a swig of his beer and looked defiantly at Gibbs, "not surprising I had doubts, is it?"

Gibbs picked up the sailor suit and looked at it,

"Looks pretty smart to me," he observed.

"That's because you're a marine," said Tony.

Gibbs shrugged, "Moms get bees in their bonnets, Tony. My memory of all those plaids and florals of the 70s is that they were a bit, well, busy. Perhaps your mom thought a sailor suit was a neat alternative."

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs," said Tony in awe, "do you mean to tell me you took notice of what was fashionable in the 70s? And that you _remember_ what was fashionable?"

"I remember what the girls were wearing," said Gibbs a little defensively, "and I remember how different what the guys were wearing was to the Marines' uniform."

"Good comeback, Marine," said Tony, "so you think my mother loved me?"

"Abby said she'd found a picture of you and your mom," said Gibbs.

"Yeah," said Tony.

"Can I see?"

"Sure," said Tony fishing it out of his pocket and handing it to Gibbs. Gibbs looked at it for a moment and then said simply,

"That sure looks to me like a woman who loves her son," he handed it back to Tony who looked at it again. He continued, "Parents are just people, Tony; they get things wrong sometimes. Doesn't mean that they don't love you."

"OK," said Tony, "so explain to me why Dad thought making me carry the poo bucket at those damn re-enactments was a good idea?"

"I can't," said Gibbs, "you need to ask him."

"Or why he hit me so hard for cutting up his ski suit? I mean, I know I shouldn't have done it but he really lost it. Would you have hit a child for doing that?"

"No," said Gibbs, "I wouldn't."

Oddly, these non-answers seemed to satisfy Tony. He went into the kitchen, poured the rest of his beer down the sink and came back with a coffee for himself and a refill for Gibbs.

"Thanks, Boss. What do you think I should do?"

"What do you want to do?"

"Burn these clothes," said Tony.

"Then do it," said Gibbs, "bring them over to my place at the weekend and we'll have a bonfire."

"I might keep the sailor suit," said Tony, "or at least give it to Abby for Tedward."

Gibbs exercised his eyebrow again as a question, "It's a long story," said Tony, "or at least it is according to Abby."

The pair sat in companionable silence for a while until Gibbs said,

"Abby dropped something off to me last night."

"Oh?"

"The photos she took of your new miniatures."

"Why did she do that?"

"I asked her to."

"Why, Boss?"

"I thought you might like to have them framed." Gibbs fished in his pocket and brought out a small package which he handed to Tony. Tony unwrapped it and smiled at the contents. Abby had done a good job with the photos, they looked almost as good as the originals and they were sitting in two elegant gold painted wooden frames. As Tony peered more closely he noticed that the gold paint had been distressed a little to make it look older and that the frames had a discreet pattern carved in them.

"Thank you, Boss. They're beautiful."

Gibbs shrugged modestly, "Good people deserve good things. Doesn't always happen but sometimes it does, sometimes we can make it happen," he took another sip of coffee. "Don't second guess yourself, Tony. If you think bits of your past sucked, let them go. Got plenty of people who care about you now. Learn from your parents' mistakes. I guess Senior wakes up pretty lonely sometimes, he's paying a price."

Tony looked in awe at his unusually talkative Boss. Gibbs sniffed, "Is that cold Chinese I smell?"

Tony smiled in relief as the world resumed its normal course, "Sure. Say, Boss?"

"Yeah, DiNozzo?"

"Abby's going to make me a bigger version of that new photo. Would you make me a frame for it?"

Through the sound of Chinese being eaten came the reply, "Already on it, Tony."


	4. Chapter 4

An unexpected flurry of cases meant that the MCRT worked the following weekend so the proposed bonfire didn't happen.

Tony did make time, however, to start going through the boxes marked 'Books'. Some of the books were old school texts and one of them enabled him to mend fences with his neighbour. Gloria Gordon was delighted to get a book called 'British war heroes of the nineteenth century' featuring a picture of General Gordon of Khartoum on the cover. Tony didn't like being on bad terms with his neighbours but there was an added reason to be on Gloria's good side. She was a phenomenal baker who had been forbidden by her doctor to eat her creations so she needed to find someone to eat her cakes; the gift of the war heroes book meant that Tony once again became the recipient of Hummingbird Cake, Red Velvet Cake, Whoopie Pies and whatever else she whipped up.

Tony also found a series of children's books on the American Civil War. He had no interest in _that_ subject but, remembering that they had used his crate as an impromptu fort, he bestowed them on the young occupants of apartment 6.

There were some books, however, which he found himself unable to give up. There was a near complete set of Paddington Bear books: these had been gifts from Aunt Caroline who had usually send him one as a Christmas or birthday gift. The other, even more precious, find was a set of the Mary Poppins books which he had read with his mom and which were inscribed with messages from her. If he was honest, he had enjoyed watching the movie more but the books were a link to his mother which he was pleased to rediscover. The Paddington and Mary Poppins books found a home in his bedroom (he wasn't quite brave enough to put them on display in his main living room) and he occasionally found one to be a soothing bedtime read after a stressful day of capturing criminals.

Tony put aside the rest of the books, resolving to ask Tim if any of them would be suitable for his scout troop and thinking that the remainder could go to some thrift store.

Tony was now able to turn his attention to the remaining boxes ambiguously labelled 'Misc' which he assumed was short for miscellaneous. One box had the bed linen and towels from the drawers under his bed so he soon had another pile ready to go to the thrift store. The other boxes turned out to hold the contents of the various shelves in the room and these sent Tony down memory lane once more.

There was a picture of his parents' wedding day. They were dressed in what was probably the height of fashion for the time but it just looked embarrassing to Tony: they looked very happy, however, and were surrounded by members of their family who had varying degrees of approval on their faces. Tony spent some time trying to identify everyone and spotting family likenesses; he had always thought he took most over Senior but now he could see similarities with his mother's relatives as well.

There were photos of Tony with sports teams, with school friends and holding trophies. There was one of him at Camp wearing his clogs and Tony decided to leave that one hidden somewhere. There was one of him sitting at the piano with his mom but that was the only family picture and, most conspicuously of all, there were none of Senior.

Tony sighed and continued to look through the boxes. There was a plaque awarded for being the most improved basketball player of the year; he remembered that was the year in which he had finally had a growth spurt which had brought him up to the height of his class mates. There were medals and certificates for running, for teams winning leagues and competitions and there was an old football which Tony felt must have been significant at some point but he couldn't remember what momentous event in his young life it had come from. A couple of diplomas for passing piano examinations brought back a mixture of memories.

It was only as he emptied the last of the boxes that he realised that he had half been expecting to find something else. He smiled at his foolishness and tried to decide what to do with the rest of what he had found.

NCISNCIS

The next day he went to see Ducky in the morgue with a slight feeling of apprehension about what he was going to say to him.

"Good morning, Anthony," said Ducky with his usual courtesy, "and what can I do for you this fine morning? Although actually I fear it is not a particularly fine day, I found it to be rather chilly this morning and the weather forecast was not encouraging. But I digress, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"It's about the miniatures, Ducky …"

"You know, Anthony, I am most excited about widening my knowledge of eighteenth and nineteenth century English colourists although, as I think I mentioned before, I believe the history of the work of their contemporaries in Scotland is equally fascinating although it may be rather more difficult to access their history. But I interrupted you, pray continue."

"I'm really grateful to you …"

"Really, Anthony, you do not need to express any gratitude to me. I will enjoy the task very much. It will be a welcome respite from the doom and gloom of my usual occupation. Although it should be said that some anatomical diagrams are works of art in their own right and when time permits I may extend my research to those as well. Dear, dear; I do apologise, Anthony. I seem to be monopolising the conversation."

"I think you said that you might know someone interested in putting them in a gallery …"

"Yes, indeed. I know the very person, I am sure he will be delighted to consider them."

"Will be?" pressed Tony, "does that mean you haven't asked him yet?"

"I do apologise, Anthony. I fear I have been very busy over the last few days …"

"But …" tried Tony.

"But you are right, Anthony, it is unforgiveable. I undertook to perform this task for you and I have failed …"

"I don't …"

"And you are right not to understand, Anthony. I pride myself on keeping my promises and I have let you down. I promise I will not let the matter rest any longer. I will contact Christopher as soon as I have finished the current autopsy report."

"Please don't," said Tony.

"I quite understand, Anthony. There is no reason why you should continue to trust me in this."

"DUCKY!" said Tony in desperation.

"Why, Anthony, whatever is the matter?"

"Ducky, I've been trying to tell you …,"

"Ant …" began Ducky but was stopped by Tony raising a hand to silence him.

"I emailed my cousin Crispian a few days ago when I found the portraits. I thought he should know where they are."

"That was thoughtful of you, my boy. I do hope he is not laying claim to them … I must say that your documentation looked very thorough and seemed to confirm that the miniatures were being gifted to you. I could recommend a good lawyer if you need one …"

"Ducky!" said Tony in a warning voice. Ducky bowed his head in submission so Tony continued, "I got a reply overnight …" Ducky opened his mouth to speak but closed it again at Tony's warning glance, "turns out that Crispian knew where they were, Uncle Clive had told him."

"That is very reassuring, Anthony. I'm sure Christopher will be pleased to know that the ownership is not in doubt."

"Crispian also told me that the other Paddington family miniatures are going on a long term loan to the National Portrait Gallery in London."

"Yes?" said Ducky, briefly for once.

"Yes. And I think it would be good to let Elizabeth and Edward join them there."

"Oh," said Ducky.

"Don't you think that would be a good idea?" asked Tony anxiously, "lots of people would be able to see them."

"I think it is a splendid idea, Anthony. It turns out to be rather fortuitous that I had not made any enquiries."

"And you could still do your research," said Tony encouragingly.

"Indeed," said Ducky, "it will be good to broaden my intellectual horizons. It doesn't do to rest on one's laurels, you know."

"Ducky," said Tony with a laugh, "you are the least likely person I know to rest on anything!"

Gibbs came in at the moment, looking for the autopsy report and heard the end of the conversation between the two.

"And tell me, Anthony, have you finished unpacking those boxes yet?"

"Yeah, last night, Ducky."

"Did you discover any more treasures?"

"No, Ducky, no more priceless heirlooms!"

"Not even Mr Fuggles?"

"No, no Mr Fuggles."

NCISNCIS

Gibbs arrived at Tony's apartment that night.

"Boss?" said Tony as he opened the door. He cast his mind back over the day but couldn't think of anything which had happened to prompt another visit from Gibbs.

"Brought the other frame," said Gibbs, shoving a package into Tony's hands.

Tony relaxed a little, "Thanks, Boss." He ripped the covering off and admired Gibbs' latest handiwork. He put the picture on the piano next to the miniatures. He turned to see Gibbs surveying the pile of books in one corner.

"Who knew I had so many books?" he joked, "I'm thinking those'll go to the thrift shop."

"Mind if I have a look?" said Gibbs.

"Sure," said a puzzled Tony.

"Mike Franks' granddaughter is just getting into reading," explained Gibbs, "she might like some of them."

"Oh, OK. Not sure how girly they are, though."

"Don't think that'll matter. At her age they don't really think like that."

"Knock yourself out, I'll put the coffee on."

Gibbs selected a few books and sat back on the couch with them. He nursed the mug of coffee and seemed to start reading one of the books. Tony relaxed a little and then jumped when Gibbs said casually,

"So who's Mr Fuggles?"

Tony choked on his coffee and Gibbs had to slap him on the back.

"What?" he gasped when he could breathe again.

"Heard Ducky say you were looking for Mr Fuggles."

"Not exactly _looking_," said Tony.

Gibbs did his eyebrow raising gesture.

"I wouldn't have minded finding him," admitted Tony, "but I wasn't actually looking for him."

"I think Ducky would call that semantics," said Gibbs, "so who was he?"

"A toy rabbit. It's not a big deal, you know."

"I didn't say it was," said Gibbs mildly. "Why Fuggles?"

"Senior was into English beer at the time. He was looking into importing special brews into New York bars. He said there was a type of hop called 'fuggle' so, as rabbits hop, fuggle would be a good name for my rabbit."

"Your dad gave you the rabbit?"

"Bit out of character, eh?" said Tony.

Gibbs shrugged, not wanting to give an opinion.

"It was my ninth birthday," Tony continued, deliberately not looking towards Gibbs, "I fell out of the tree in our garden. Senior, unusually, was at home and took me to the emergency room. He got Mr Fuggles for me in the gift shop while my arm was being put in plaster."

Gibbs nodded approvingly, thinking that Tony had at least one good story to tell of his father, even if it did involve a broken arm.

"When he came back, the nurse told him they were admitting me for the night because I'd hit my head and they wanted to keep me in for observation. He came and sat with me in my room, he held my hand. We came up with the name for Mr Fuggles." Tony took a sip of his coffee, "he didn't tell me off for climbing the tree or for ruining the birthday party. It felt like what fathers are meant to do." He turned his gaze so he was looking straight at Gibbs and said in a carefully emotionless voice, "and then he told me to be a good boy and he'd see me when he got home because he had to go off on a business trip to California."

"And did he?"

"What, go? Oh, yes, he went. Not sure it was a business trip but I'm pretty sure he went to California."

Gibbs didn't know what to say but Tony didn't seem to mind and carried on, "I know it's pathetic, but I really loved Mr Fuggles. It was about the only thing I could remember Senior ever buying me himself and he was really nice to me – well, until he left. Mr F was small enough for me to be able to take everywhere and people not notice. I even took him to boarding school with me. I'd look at him and think that Senior could do the right thing sometimes."

"He left you in the hospital," said Gibbs crossly.

Tony shrugged, "With Senior, I learned to take what I could. Like I said, I took Mr Fuggles with me everywhere. Until I went to England; I left him in the Long Island house but I never went back so I didn't see Mr Fuggles again."

Gibbs was glad he had a reputation as a functional mute as he couldn't think of what to say and he couldn't think of anything he could do to fix it. Tony might have divined something of what his Boss was thinking,

"Please don't tell Abby. She'd start doing some sort of search to find a replica or replacement and, honestly, Boss, I'm not even sure what he looked like anymore. It's not a big deal, really."

Gibbs had to settle for that and left shortly afterwards.

NCISNCIS

The National Portrait Gallery was delighted with Tony's offer to lend them the Paddington miniatures and things moved surprisingly quickly. A few days later, Tony took some leave to visit London and deliver them himself. He took a London cab from his hotel to the gallery where he was warmly greeted and shown the gallery where the miniatures would live from now on; then it was time to sign the paper work and hand the pictures over. He wondered if this was a bit like a parent leaving a child at school for the first time: he knew the pictures would be safe and well-looked after but he was surprised to find that he didn't want to let them go.

The gallery wanted to show their gratitude so gave him lunch and, after a few seemingly casual questions, offered to show Tony some of their collection of photos of 20th century English movie stars. This meant that he spent a happy hour looking at pictures of Elizabeth Taylor, David Niven, Dirk Bogarde and Merle Oberon and left feeling a lot more content. He had to fight his way through the crowds milling around the Portrait Gallery and was pleased to see how popular it was; he hoped it meant that lots of people would be looking at his miniatures. He decided to get the full London experience so walked across Trafalgar Square after leaving the gallery and went on a traditional red double decker bus for a round-London tour.

The next day he looked up the trains from London to Henley and was absurdly pleased to find that they went from Paddington station. Once in Henley he took a cab to a village just outside the town and went to the quiet churchyard where his great uncle was buried. He knelt to lay a bunch of white roses on the grave and then stayed there lost in memories of Clive until he realised that it had started to rain and he was getting soaked. He stood up, briefly touched the headstone and said, "Thank you. Sorry it's late, but thank you."

Then he got up and went to the pub which stood next to the church. He grinned when he saw that they sold beer made from Fuggles hops so he ordered a pint and a ploughman's lunch to tide him over until it was time to go back to London.

NCISNCIS

Gibbs kept an eye on Tony's apartment and fed Kate while he was away. Shortly after Tony had gone away he picked up the mail and noticed that a package had arrived which had a return address for Anthony DiNozzo Sr; almost without thinking he tucked it in his pocket and took it home with him.

A happy Tony bounced into the squad room the day after his return from the UK and distributed his gifts. McGee got a money box in the form of a London red post-box (to save your royalties in, Probie). Abby got a doll dressed as a Tower of London Beefeater; Ziva a tin of shortbread with a picture of Buckingham Palace on it; Ducky got a biography of George Romney (to help with your research), Jimmy got a book on the London Eye ('cos I know you're interested in eyes) and Gibbs got a model of the Cutty Sark tea clipper moored at Greenwich.

As the team looked at their gifts and gazed doubtfully at the additional present of tooth destroying Brighton Rock, Gibbs jerked his head to summon Tony to his desk.

"Those books and the other stuff you're going to donate?"

"Yes, Boss?"

"I'm having a yard sale on Saturday. D'you want to put your stuff in it?"

"You're having a what?" said Tony in disbelief.

"You heard me, a yard sale."

Tony mimicked Gibbs and raised an eyebrow in enquiry.

"The street's doing some fund raising for a kids' play area. Seems a good cause and I've got some trash to get rid of. D'you want in or not?"

"In, Boss. Definitely."

"We'll have that bonfire afterwards."

"Thanks, Boss."

"8am sharp, DiNozzo. Don't be late."

Gibbs' yard sale was a surreal experience for Tony. It turned out that Gibbs was the star of his neighbourhood: a mender of dripping faucets, broken windows and creaking hinges and someone who seemed to keep the street safe. As a result his neighbours turned out in droves to pick over his goods and they were all eager to buy something as a way of saying thank you to their guardian. It was just as well that his 'trash' was supplemented by Tony's contribution as otherwise the yard sale would have been over in an hour.

Tony enjoyed talking to the customers and was glad to see that his childhood belongings were going to good homes and helping to raise money to help other kids. When Gibbs nodded towards a father and his small son and said,

"Denis is into civil war re-enactions,"

Tony knew what he should so. He went to his car and hauled out his old costume. A few minutes later the pair walked off happily with the costume in a bag and their money still in their pockets. Tony thought the father and son looked a good family who could withstand any jinx associated with the clothes but he couldn't bear the thought of getting money for his unhappy memory.

The efficient Gibbs soon had his yard neat and tidy once the sale was over and he and Tony retreated to the back yard.

"Thought we'd have steak as well," Gibbs said, "might as well make use of the fire."

"Fine with me, Boss."

Gibbs got the fire burning and Tony went to collect the ski-suit/astronaut costume.

"I don't think anyone would want this anyway," said Tony, "I did a real number on it all those days ago."

Gibbs grunted and Tony chose to interpret this as approval. He wondered if he should say something as he consigned the costume to the flames but, reflecting that Gibbs wasn't really one for ceremony, he just tossed it in. He watched as it writhed in the heat and then finally disintegrated. Tony was surprised not to feel anything much as it was destroyed; he guessed that perhaps he had taken Gibbs' advice and consigned the bad memory to the trash where it could no longer hurt him.

Gibbs coughed, "Package came for you when you were away. From your Dad."

"Oh, God," said Tony, "tell me it's not another crate."

"It's not another crate," said Gibbs obligingly.

"Phew," said Tony but he looked uncertain enough to make Gibbs think he had been right to consider withholding the parcel. He took the package out of his pocket and handed it to Tony feeling that he wanted to be on hand in case Senior was about to unleash another of his unpleasant surprises.

Tony shook the parcel and prodded it.

"D'you know what's in it?" he asked.

"Nope. Thought of getting Abby to x-ray it but decided that was overkill," said Gibbs deadpan.

"Oh, well. Might as well get it over with," said Tony, ripping the tape off. He pulled out something wrapped in bubble wrap and an accompanying letter.

"Dear Anthony," he read out loud, "sending you that package the other week reminded me of something. I went into your room when it was being packed up and saw your rabbit on your desk. Call me an old softie but it looked so lonesome there that I picked it up and took it with me. I've had it with me ever since, it always reminded me of you. I used to picture that little boy being so brave in hospital and how hard it was for me to walk away.

But now everything else in the room has come back to you so here is Mr Fuggles too.

See you soon, love, Dad."

With slightly shaky hands, Tony unfolded the bubble wrap to reveal a rather shabby (and to Gibbs' eyes) ugly plush rabbit. A soft smile dawned on Tony's face and he rubbed one finger gently over a lopsided ear.

"Senior," he sighed, "always full of surprises, eh?"

Gibbs stood up,

"Guess we don't need the fire for Mr Fuggles?"

"No!" said Tony in an outraged voice.

"Good. I'll put the steaks on then," and as he walked back to the house he gave Tony a slap on the back.

* * *

_AN: thank you to everyone who made suggestions for what could be in the boxes – I think I probably got most of them in!_

_I didn't know fuggle was a type of hop (beer ingredient) until after I'd named Mr Fuggles but I think naming a rabbit after a hop sort of fits._


End file.
